Obliviate
by Alternatively
Summary: If that kiss had never happened and Hermione got walloped by a memory charm during the final battle. An alternative Ron and Hermione get together.
1. Chapter 1

"She's about to wake up. You all need to leave."

"We're not going anywhere," said Harry firmly.

"That's right," said Ginny.

"Absolutely," said Mrs Weasley. Mr Weasley put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze.

The healer frowned and tried to make himself seem taller. Difficult, given the company.

"You have to-"

"I'm happy to wait in the corridor," said Charlie, "I don't know her all that well,"

Ron glared.

"C'mon, you'd better show me where to go," Charlie clapped a calloused paw on the healer's skinny shoulder, steering him out of the room.

"Is that really a good idea?" whispered Ginny, "I mean we don't know-"

Hermione opened her eyes.

Everyone froze anxiously.

She blinked. Inhaled sharply, and in one flurry of movement sat up and started frantically feeling around the hospital bed, never taking her eyes off them.

"Hermione?" Harry took a step towards her, "Are you-"

"Come any closer and I'll hex you into next century," she croaked.

Harry paused.

"Hermione?"

"Who the hell are you?"

"Uh-" Harry exchanged looks with the others, words dying on his tongue, "Um. I'm Harry."

Hermione cast him a truly terrifying crocodile smile.

"Well, Harry, I strongly recommend you don't come any closer unless you wish to lose both your legs and your small intestine,"

"Is there a spell for that?" George tipped his head, curious, and then took a hasty step back as Hermione turned to look at him.

"Of course," she said, "There's another that removes all your teeth and repositions them elsewhere. Arteries. Eyeballs. That sort of thing,"

"No wand," Ginny muttered.

Hermione gave a short laugh.

"You think I need one? Convenient, I'll admit. But not necessary."

"Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear." Mrs Weasley looked on the verge of tears, "Not the best person to obliviate. My dear, we're your- well, we don't mean you any harm. You had an accident- memory charm- you don't remember?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"Well, if I'd had a memory charm accident, I'm hardly likely to remember it, am I?"

"Of- of course, dear, it's just- do- do you recognise anyone?"

Hermione glared round at them.

"How do I know it was an accident?"

"What?"

"How do I know you didn't do this on purpose?"

"Wha- we didn't do this!" said Mrs Weasley, horrified, "As though we would ever-"

"You would say that," said Hermione, repositioning the hospital pillows behind her back more comfortably, "Tell you what. Prove it. I'll listen to anyone who will hand over their wand."

She folded her arms and looked round.

"I-" Harry stepped forward.

"Not you," she snapped, "I don't like you. You're…" she wrinkled her nose, "earnest."

Everyone exchanged uneasy glances.

Ron sighed.

"Tactical error, you know," he said, tossing his wand onto the bed, "As soon as you ask for one, it just proves you can't do wandless magic,"

"Faulty logic," said Hermione, holding Ron's wand in her fingertips. "It just proves I want a wand. Right. The rest of you, out. If you genuinely don't mean me any harm, you'll do it. And if you do mean me harm- well, I now have a wand-"

"Interesting that you remember magic," said Mr Weasley suddenly.

"I'm muggleborn, not stupid," said Hermione tersely.

"Yes, but don't you see that means that-"

"OUT!" Hermione flicked a shower of sparks at them.

"Geez," said Ginny, "Good luck," she grabbed Harry's arm and towed him towards the door.

"Shout if you need us," said Mr Weasley.

Ron nodded, and ran a hand through his hair anxiously.

The door closed behind them, and Ron looked down at her. She was regarding him thoughtfully, rolling the wand through her fingers, feeling all the flaws in the wood and the carving. Not homicidal. Ron dragged a chair over and sat down beside the bed.

"Hey,"

"So what happened?"

"You got in the way of a Death Eater's spell,"

She frowned.

"Death eater? What kind of ridiculous name is that?"

Ron cracked his knuckles uncomfortably.

"Fair point. They're all nutters. Evil nutters."

"I see."

"He was aiming for you. You're- kind of the brainbox of the operation. Strategically, memory charm was a good way to go."

"Yes, except there's no such thing,"

Ron frowned.

"Um… what?"

"No such thing."

Ron ran a hand through his hair again.

"What is it?"

He gave a short laugh.

"Traditionally, you don't like to be contradicted."

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"The memory charm seems to have taken your memory of memory charms," he said apologetically.

She looked down at her hands, as though making a mental inventory of the cuts and scrapes there. She sighed and looked up at him again.

"So, how long have we been together?"

"What? Oh, you mean you, me and Harry? Since first year. Well- since the mountain troll anyway."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up.

"That idiot? I would never- I mean I would never anyway, but- that idiot? Who does he think he is, saviour of the universe?"

"Ah…um… sort of. He's also one of your best friends. Me being the other one. Ron," he said, realising she wouldn't know. He held out a hand awkwardly. "Not another saviour or anything, just a- a friend."

She frowned at him. Ron gave up on the hand shaking offer and scratched his knee instead.

"We are dating though, right?"

"What?!"

She was looking at him anxiously.

"We are though, right?"

Ron gaped. And gulped.

"Uh, no. Not exactly."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him.

"No. Not at all."

Ron was quite convinced he was beetroot. Certainly his face was on fire.

"Oh," she sounded disappointed. "Why not?"

Ron blinked.

"Uh… well… um…"

Her grey eyes never wavered.

"You clearly fancy me. Do I not fancy you? I think I would you know. You're sort of…" she tipped her head to one side, "appealing."

Ron opened his mouth and shut it again. This was not going to plan.

"Um… thank you?"

"It's an observation, not a compliment."

"Oh." Ron swallowed.

Hermione was still studying him.

"So that was your family. The ones with the matching hair."

"Uh, some of them, yeah." Tactful topic change, thanks.

She nodded.

"So… your 'friend' has an accident and your family turns up in order to worry about how you're coping. Are you sure we're not dating?"

Argh! So persistant.

Ron gave a reluctant laugh.

"No, we're not dating. But if you get your memory back, I swear I'll ask you out."

Hermione blinked.

"What if I don't?"

Her eyes were so serious.

"Uh… you will." He laughed again- but it sounded hollow. "Of course you will."

She looked sad.

"So… I'm not her then."

"Who?"

"The Hermione you're in love with,"

Ron flushed scarlet again.

"What- don't- I mean-"

"It's ok," she said quietly.

"No- it's- look, you're still you," Ron waved a hand desperately, "It's just, you know, it'd be weird- you don't even remember me- I wouldn't want to be taking advantage…"

Hermione raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"You know I wasn't kidding about wandless magic,"

"You don't even remember memory charms," protested Ron.

She held out his wand.

Ron frowned.

Hermione made an exasperated sound, took his hand and curled his fingers around his wand.

"No wand. See?"

She cupped her hands and a little blue flame fluttered and sparked into life.

Ron found his eyes were darting back and forth between her told-you-so expression and the flickery blue light.

"How are you doing that? I mean, I know you're brilliant, but wandless magic is pretty bloody unusual,"

Hermione sighed, closed her hands over the blue flame and snuffed it out.

"What do you think I've spent the past seven years working on?"

"Well- homework," said Ron, "And defeating Voldemort. Which we did, by the way. Well, Harry did. And we helped. Well you did all the research and Harry did the heroic stuff, and I-"

"Of course I was doing homework," she rolled her eyes, "But didn't you ever wonder what my motivation was?"

"Errm…" Ron frowned. The desire to do vast quantities of homework was unfathomable and hence not worth thinking about. "Not really. I suppose I kinda got the impression you thought of knowledge as power and a useful tool against you-know-who,"

She frowned.

"Who?"

"Voldemort. You know."

She shook her head.

"Wow." Ron let out a breath. "Ok, well, stands to reason if you don't remember me and Harry, you wouldn't remember Voldemort either. Basically, big bad guy intent on mass destruction and slaughter, who did a whole heap of dark magic and rendered himself subhuman and had to be got rid of."

Hermione's expression was troubled.

"Are you saying we killed someone?"

"No. Voldemort had destroyed himself long before we turned up. Do you remember horcruxes?"

Hermione's eyebrows shot up.

"Oh dear."

"Yes." Ron scratched his head. "Look, I know you probably want to know what you don't remember, but I don't know where the gaps are. Think you could fill me in on what the last seven years were like for you?"

Hermione was frowning again.

"You think it's only the last seven years of my memory that are custard?"

Ron shrugged.

"I'd love to say that if you remember magic it stands to reason your memories must be ok up until at least the Hogwarts express, but but it doesn't, and actually, I really don't know much about your life before Hogwarts. I know your parents are dentists, I know you've been on family holidays to France, and I know you went to muggle school but…" Ron shrugged again, "I can only help with the last seven years."

Hermione bit her lip.

Ron rubbed the back of his neck and shifted uncomfortably in the chair. She looked so… real.

She was real.

She was Hermione. Just… with bits missing.

But it didn't feel like there were bits missing. It seemed like her. Just… Ron couldn't put his finger on it. She was thinking, the way she always thought, that intense distant expression, like something was happening far away or in another universe and only she could see it. So brilliant, so strong… so mortal. Wandless magic or no, there was no way he was leaving her vulnerable and wandless in a hospital ward with Death Eaters on the loose.

"I felt sad when you mentioned my parents," she said quietly, "Are they dead?"

Her steady grey eyes were suddenly boring holes into his skull.

"No," he said quickly, "They're fine- just got a few memory problems too."

She blinked.

"I see,"

"Yeah."

Hermione lapsed back into silence, back into that intense otherwhere.

Ron flipped his wand through his fingers a few times and tried not to say anything.

Finally, she took a breath, like she was just waking up.

"I think I'd better rest now," she gave a small smile, "Could you send that healer back in?"

Ron felt his throat close up in panic. He was being dismissed. He was being sent away. He was being- a complete git. She must be exhausted.

"You trust him?"

"No, but I can tell you trust me, and I notice you made up your mind to leave me with your wand."

Ron pulled a face.

"Legilimency?"

She grinned.

"Nope. You're just super easy to read. You got mildly reluctant and then sort of noble and then determined in quick succession, and you were looking at your wand. Well you were looking at me, and then you were looking at your wand. And besides, even if you weren't thinking exactly that, I still want your wand. It's got a good feeling."

Ron passed her the wand.

"It's new," He said, "I might be a bit overly attached to it. Olivander's been teaching me."

Hermione sighed.

"I remember Olivander," she said wistfully, "He was such a sweet old man,"

"Mmm," Ron didn't think now was the time to reminisce about Olivander, especially if he was still a sweet old man in Hermione's memory.

"Thanks," Hermione said, rolling his wand between her fingers again, "Come tomorrow?"

Relief flooded through him.

"Of course," he said. "Sleep well,"

Hermione cast him an amused look.

"Oh I'm not going to sleep," she said, "I've got seven years worth of memories to run through,"

"Right," said Ron drily, "Of course- homework."

The amused look deepened into a grin.

"Have you ever wondered where magic comes from? Or what it is exactly? It might be a touch perverse, but I can't help but think this is a unique opportunity to answer some fairly fundamental questions,"

Ron found he was grinning back at her.

"In between solving the mysteries of the universe," he said, "Could you spare a thought for the reversing obliviation? I'd really like to ask you out,"

Hermione cast him a look from under dark lashes.

"Ask away,"

"Not while you can't remember me,"

"Spoilsport."

"Minx."

"Ooh, you never would've said that to the old me,"

"The old you would never have indulged in flirting,"

Hermione was grinning.

"The old me probably had better things to do,"

"Definitely," said Ron, feeling strangely buoyant and off balance, "The old you was busy saving the world."


	2. Chapter 2

"So? How is she? Didn't hex you or anything?"

Ron stared round at the anxious faces.

"No hexes. She's… ok. I think." He frowned and dug his hands into his pockets, "Said she's going to have a think about the past seven years and see what she can piece together, so that we can work out where the gaps are. It's pretty weird- doesn't remember Voldemort, but knows all about horcruxes; can't remember memory charms, but thinks Olivander is a sweet old man." _And kind of… hit on me?_ Ron decided to keep that part to himself. He caught sight of Harry's worried face. "Sorry mate, she doesn't want to see anyone else today,"

Harry looked like he'd taken a bludger to the guts.

"I never saw this coming," he said, "Why her?"

"Why anyone," said George flatly. "We don't get to choose what crap hits us. At least she's not a vegetable. Easily done with bungled memory charms."

 _Thanks George. State the obvious. Remind everyone of Fred too, while you're at it. Make us all feel sick and miserable. Good one, mate._

 _Shit I'm such a bastard._

Ron stuffed his muddled feelings back down and tried to remember whose turn it was to stay at Mungo's. It was always two of them, on a roster, just in case anything should go wrong. He felt horrible for hoping he wasn't rostered on with George any time soon.

But George made him think of Fred.

And Fred made his brain turn all stringy and tangled.

"It's me and mum now," said Ginny, "You lot should go grab a coffee or something. Have some lunch, you know, try to stop looking neurotic,"

George snorted but didn't say anything.

"Oh, also," said Ron, pleased by how casual it sounded, "I've left her with my wand- but just so you know, she wasn't bluffing about the wandless magic,"

Everyone absorbed this. Ron thoroughly enjoyed how impressed they looked. _She's so freakin' brilliant._ He felt smug about it by association.

"If she can do it wandless, why did you leave her yours?" Ginny was frowning at him.

 _Why? Because… it's all I had to give her?_

"Word's going to get out that she's woken up. How would you feel about attacking Hermione if you knew she had a wand?"

Charlie grinned.

"True, but if I was trying to take out _the_ Hermione Granger, thing of legend, no way I'd get close enough for her hex me. I'd blow the bloody building up. Heck, if I really wanted her gone, I'd take out the whole suburb."

Silence.

"Yeah, we really need a safe house, don't we."

"Preferably in another country."

"Right."

Harry opened his mouth as though he were about to deliver orders.

"I'll look into it," said Mr Weasley quickly, "But I think you're right Ginevra, the next thing has to be lunch."

HERMIONE'S ROOM AT MUNGO'S

Hermione lay in the boring institutional hospital bed and tried to quiet the flurry of panic swirling through her chest. Emotions flashed against each other, rapidfire and contradictory, and she just wasn't sure where to start.

 _There's something wrong with my brain._

The panic swung further into control, whipping all the other emotions up into a frenzied turmoil.

She couldn't breathe.

 _There's something wrong with my- shut up, shut up, shut up!_

 _Think about something else._

 _Think about Ron._

It was like oil on water.

It soothed her. The tumult of emotions was still there, but underneath the thoughts of him. She tried to focus on the intangible, the thing she would never be able to articulate, that unidentifiable feeling she'd had when he was in the room. The certainty she'd felt the minute he'd stepped forward, that she was, after all, safe among strangers because he was one of them.

She ran her fingers over his wand, feeling the warm tingle of magic in the wood, feeling the reassurance of a wand in her hand, and the comfort of a connection to him.

The panic came to rest at the bottom of the pile of feelings, still very much alive but temporarily dormant.

 _Right_ , she thought, _Ron is a good place to start._

 _What do I remember?_

 _Do I remember anything?_

 _What is a memory anyway?_

She sighed to herself.

 _There's something wrong with my brain._

AT GRIMMAULD PLACE

Harry wasn't sure what to make of it. He didn't know what he could possibly have done in the few minutes he'd seen Hermione that could've pissed her off so royally, but she just wasn't having a bar of him.

Ron said he was working on it, but Harry darkly suspected Ron was enjoying having Hermione all to himself.

And Harry didn't at all trust Ron to talk her through the past seven years in an objective sort of way.

"You still all jealous and cross?" Ginny flumped down on the sofa next to him and swinging one leg over his in a show of lazy affection.

"I'm not jealous," said Harry crossly, "I just don't know what I did wrong, and Ron's being a smug arse about it."

"When I was born," said Ginny as though about to impart great wisdom, "According to mum, Fred had a right tantrum because I got passed around all the older brothers and he didn't get a turn. It's not that he didn't want them to hold me, it's just that he wanted a go too. Like as the new baby in the family everyone was supposed to have equal shares, and when he didn't get his he got mad."

Harry didn't say anything. Ginny could be bloody annoying sometimes. He hadn't realised how annoying until recently. Grimmauld place seemed a lot smaller than he'd remembered.

"What I mean is, it's ok to be a bit jealous; she's your friend too."

"Yeah well," said Harry. "Doesn't count for much does it,"

Ginny tipped her head to one side.

"You don't know what she's thinking. She doesn't remember you."

"She remembers Ron."

"No she doesn't," Ginny insisted, "She's taken a shine to him, but she doesn't remember him. Told me so this morning when I asked."

Harry found his face felt less tense suddenly.

"Did you ask about me?"

Ginny mock winced.

"Yeeaah… she _really_ doesn't like you. I mean, she doesn't _know_ you," said Ginny hastily, "I mean, she's taken exception to you for no particularly good reason- although…"

Harry felt his face tense up again.

"What? I'm too _earnest_ , apparently, whatever that means,"

"Well, you are a bit of a stress head,"

Very annoying, Harry decided.

"And you do kind of think everyone should just do as you say,"

Harry got up to leave.

"That's really helped a lot, thanks Ginny, thanks so much,"

Ginny rolled her eyes and pulled an exasperated face at him.

"Gah, that's not the point- look, you're used to being in charge and in battle and whathaveyou but you're not our flipping General any more- and besides, we were all in that fight and some of us were leading more people than you for a lot longer. You don't seem to realise that other people can make decisions and that you're not always right… Harry, please don't storm off, I'm just trying to help you see-"

"You have no idea, Ginny, _no idea_ -"

"Yeah, well, _you_ have no idea Harry, you have _no bleeding clue_ what it was like for the rest of us, or what we did, or what we're capable of and you don't want to know, you think you're the only-"

"What? The only one who could defeat Voldemort? Well, forgive me for being _big headed_ but that _is_ pretty much what happened-"

Ginny let out an incredulous snort.

"Right, right, go on, take all the credit-"

"I _died_ , Ginny-"

"Yeah, and you weren't the only one."

Harry glared at her.

"Don't even-"

"Ooh what? Don't even mention my dead brother? Don't even mention Tonks and Lupin and all the people who died and didn't come back? Why not Harry? Does it bother you that they died fighting Voldemort? Or do you think they died for you? Is that what it is? Are you so puffed up in your own importance that you think their deaths are your fault? Because that sounds a lot like you, Harry, and you can ignore everything I'm saying, but ask yourself this: prophecies aside, _do you really think you are the reason Voldemort's dead_?"

Like a slap in the face.

Harry found himself surprisingly calm. His chest was burning, but his voice came out low and steady.

"Yeah, I do. No-one else was even _looking_ for horcruxes. Dumbledore-"

"Dumbledore chose you, Voldemort chose you, you're sooo special, Harry, but what would have happened if you weren't around? Think maybe they would've chosen someone else? Or do you think the whole wizarding world would have thrown up their hands and just given in- well, Harry Potter isn't here to save the day, so I guess we should just roll over and submit. You take way too much credit, Harry, way too much, and you underestimate the rest of us as a result. Hermione woke up one day, took one look at that massive ego, and decided she didn't want to waste her time, and I don't blame her."

 _This is my_ girlfriend _talking. What the hell is going on here?_

Harry stared.

"So what, you thought now was a good time to break up with me?"

Ginny looked baffled.

"What?"

"Well you don't seem to think very much of me, so-"

"Merlin's saggy- of _course_ I don't want to break up with you. I'm just trying to help you see how you come across sometimes. I get it, I get why you are the way you are, I've been around for that- but Hermione hasn't. So I'm just trying to help you see why someone as brilliant as her might not want to play second fiddle to your hero-ing."

Harry stared again. His eyes felt weird. Hot, but not in a crying way. Like maybe fire might shoot out of them and set the living room ablaze.

"Don't think I want to be in a relationship with someone who sees me like that."

Ginny gave an incredulous snort.

"Seriously? You're going with righteous indignation? Please don't add incapable of receiving criticism to the list. I love you, but you can't expect me to lie to you."

"I don't," said Harry, "Say whatever you like. But whatever this is, it's over."


	3. Chapter 3

Ginny sat on the sofa for a bit.

"What a dick."

She looked up. George, standing in the doorway, looking amused.

"He's not really," she said, "Most people don't take criticism well,"

George's lips twitched.

"How are you with criticism?"

Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Ok, fine. Hit me."

George sighed and came to sit next to her.

"That was pretty harsh,"

Ginny fidgeted uncomfortably.

"True. But he's been annoying the crap out of everyone. Someone had to tell him."

George found her gaze and held it.

Ginny fought to stop her eyes sliding away. She had no reason to apologise for what she'd said; she was right.

"You don't think you were a touch on the vicious side?"

Ginny shrugged.

"You think he would've listened if I hadn't been?"

George leaned back into the sofa cushions.

"I think you're still pissed off with him for treating you like the little woman and going charging off on an adventure without you."

Ginny eyed him warily.

"So?"

"Yeah, you're right," said George after a moment, "I mean, I'm glad you weren't haring off all over the countryside hunting horcruxes, but that was a seriously dick move. Make him suffer."

Ginny discovered she felt a tiny bit guilty.

But he had made her feel tiny and insignificant and unloved and pathetic. He'd made her feel weak and like… well… like a _stupid little girl._

Arse.

And he had been pretty unbearable lately.

"You know," said George, rubbing at his ear scar tissue idly, "I've changed my mind. I think the brutality was justified. You're brilliant. Ferocious. If I was off on a quest, I'd take you with me."

Ginny gave a startled laugh.

"Thanks George,"

"I mean it."

"Ok,"

"The minute I decide on a quest, I'll be knocking on your door."

"Great, thanks,"

"Even if it's three in the morning,"

"Right,"

"Even if it's freezing outside,"

"Ok George,"

"Even if it involves… wait, what are you scared of?"

Ginny raised an eyebrow at him.

"Seriously though," said George, "What was he thinking? You're perfect for quests!"

"Yeah I am," said Ginny, "I bloody am."

GRIMMAULD PLACE- HARRY'S ROOM

The really awful thing about dumping your girlfriend who is also your best friend's sister, Harry decided, was the fact that you couldn't complain to your best friend about how unreasonable and upsetting it was.

That, and the fact that her entire family seemed to think it was just a lovers' tiff and were being irritatingly understanding in a way that made it clear they didn't understand at all.

Also the fact that she'd said a bunch of horrible things and there was no-one around to tell you that they weren't true.

That and also the total absence of any sympathy from anyone at all.

Harry concluded that, seeing as he had always spent the summer locked in a bedroom, more or less, he might as well continue the tradition and keep well out of the way.

Besides, there was a backlog of quidditch mags to read after a year on the run.

MUNGO'S- HERMIONE'S ROOM

"George," he said, and held out a hand.

Hermione looked him over.

"You're the money in the family, I take it?"

George blinked, stunned.

"I… never thought of it that way. But yes, I suppose. I run a small business. It's doing quite well. How did you know?"

Hermione raised a slightly judgmental eyebrow at him. George winced internally. Whatever it was, it was clearly obvious.

"You're the only Weasley wearing new-ish clothing,"

"Oh,"

 _Yup. Obvious._

 _Buy everyone some new clothes, you git._

 _That would be super awkward though_ _…_

George winced again.

"I'm not suggesting you buy them all new wardrobes," said Hermione, "But you should know you look different."

"Right. Yeah."

George paused and studied her. She was lounging on top of the covers of the hospital bed, a large exercise book open on her lap, and an assortment of muggle pens and highlighters scattered around her. She was wearing jeans and a hoodie, and Ron's wand was twisted into her hair like a chopstick.

She looked nothing like the Hermione he remembered, all prim and proper and dressed in school robes, and a little too anxious about upsetting people.

She was like… a more relaxed, more brutal version of Hermione. A confident, no-nonsense version, with some serious memory gaps but the conviction that she was smart enough to sort it out. She seemed… George found himself starting to smile. Harry wasn't the only one with an enormous ego.

He sat down in the chair beside the bed and cracked his knuckles.

This should be interesting.

"What else can you deduce?"

Hermione tapped her pen on the back of the exercise book and regarded him thoughtfully.

"That death in the family hit you really hard."

George flinched.

"Yeah."

"Were you close?"

"Yeah. We started the business together,"

Hermione nodded.

"That can't be easy, running it without him now."

George watched her face. It was as changeable as the weather, stern and confident one moment, curious and shy the next. She was looking at him now with uncertainty, like she wanted to ask him something, like she was about to say something important.

He felt his face bend into a small smile.

"Go on," he said quietly, "Ask away."

She shook her head and frowned.

"It's fine really. I'd quite like a confidante myself these days; I promise I won't repeat anything to anyone."

She opened her mouth and shut it again.

George just looked at her.

Hermione sighed.

"Well… I just… _how_ do you run your business alone? I've been churning through ideas about this memory stuff, and I feel like I used to have someone to bounce ideas off, and without that sounding board, I feel like I'm just going round in circles."

George paused, considering.

"They're still there you know,"

"You mean Ron and Harry?"

George nodded.

Hermione sighed.

"I honestly can't believe I could've been friends with that self-important peacock. He's just so _irritating._ And Ron…" she sighed again, "Ron _really_ wants me to get my memory back, and he has this extremely flattering belief that I'll work it out and everything will be fine. And I just…" she sighed, burying her face in her hands, "I just really want him to like me,"

George quirked an eyebrow at her.

"He does like you. Last I checked he was in love with you,"

Hermione moved the exercise book and hugged her knees to her chest.

"He loves the old me. The old me was apparently unspeakably brilliant and able to solve any puzzle. The new me… well, the thing is, I don't know what I don't know. I _feel_ like I know a hell of a lot, but what if that's not enough? The old me sounds borderline genius; what if the new me is just ordinary smart?"

 _The old me built a business based on being hilarious,_ thought George, _what if the new me isn_ _'_ _t even mildly amusing?_

"Identity crisis, huh? I feel you."

Hermione looked over at him, eyebrows rising with anxiety.

"You really do, don't you?"

George nodded.

"I think… I don't know. I mean, I can't bring my brother back from the dead, so I kind of have to work out how to do the business thing without him- but you have a chance to get your memory back, so I don't know if it's really the same. You're welcome to bounce ideas though. That was kind of my role in the business- idea fixer upper. Fred was all inspiration and ideas and I was always the logic and practicality. Making the dream real, if you see what I mean,"

Hermione nodded and bit her lip.

"So… I don't quite know how to put this…" she toyed with one of the muggle highlighters, and sighed again. "I remember Hogwarts. I remember doing a lot of homework. I remember a lot of the teachers, and a lot of the content, but I don't remember…" she flipped open the exercise book and passed it to him, "These people,"

George scanned down the list.

 _My parents, the Weasley family, Harry Potter, McGonnagall, Snape, Colin Creevy, Moaning Myrtle, Victor Krum._

 _That_ _'_ _s actually quite a short list,_ thought George, _I wonder if she just doesn_ _'_ _t know who else she's forgotten._

"Do you mind?" George gestured to the pages to show he wanted to keep reading.

"Go ahead. It's mostly rambling thoughts though,"

George nodded and started flipping through the pages and pages of notes, interspersed with headings, and sections highlighted in various colours.

It seemed very Hermione, and at the same time, not. He'd seen her study notes before. They were always quill and ink on parchment, wizard-style. Tightly organised and neat. Not this sprawling text, that had clearly been read and re-read and added to and crossed out…

 _I can_ _'_ _t seem to remember having any friends,_ she'd written on one page, _which would make a kind of sense because apparently I don_ _'_ _t remember the friends that I had. But if that's true, why do I remember how lonely it was?_

That felt a bit personal, so he flipped to the next page.

 _If I focus on Ron I can remember feelings but nothing that actually happened. At least, I think I can remember feelings. Maybe I just woke up and my hormones kicked into gear. Hmmm. No I don_ _'_ _t really believe that. They're a good looking family, but there's just something about Ron. I feel-_ at this point, George decided he shouldn't keep reading, but he might as well- _like I_ _know him. Like he_ _'_ _s always been there, like we've always been together. I suppose that's why initially I thought we must've been dating. Strange, because I when I think about Hogwarts it's an unbearable loneliness, so he can't have always been there._

George skipped on and caught sight of his own name.

 _George interests me. In a family of noise he seems to be the only quiet one. The feeling I remember is curiosity. I don_ _'_ _t know why._

He turned the page.

 _What happened in first year?_

 _Sorting hat. Something to do with a troll- I don_ _'_ _t know, I was very scared. Ron says that was when we became friends, but I don't remember anything except being trapped in a bathroom while the troll smashed things. I remember things were a little better after that though. God, I was so scared I was going to be rubbish at magic._

George chuckled.

"What?"

"It's just funny that you thought you might be rubbish at magic."

"You grew up with magic all around you. I'm muggle born. Starting school I knew everyone else knew more than I did. I had a lot to catch up on."

George gazed at her a moment.

"Not so different from where you are now,"

"I suppose." She paused and then pulled the wand out of her hair and started rolling it between her fingers. "All of the things I don't remember, I have feelings about." She glanced over at him, "Do you know what I mean?"

"You don't remember the person but you do remember how you felt about them,"

"Sort of. It's like, when I see someone, I have a feeling about them. Like, I don't know why exactly, but Harry really gets on my nerves, without even really doing very much,"

George grinned.

"He's been getting on everyone's nerves lately. Ginny gave him an earfull yesterday and he's up in his room sulking. He is a good guy though."

She looked thoughtful.

"I think I'm a bit jealous of Ginny,"

"Really? Why? I mean, she's great and all, but…"

Hermione frowned.

"I think it's all that zest and vitality and charisma. Like she's just this little ball of inexhaustible energy, and she just draws people in, you know?"

"Fred was like that too. Impressive, isn't it. Part of me can't believe our family's been so poor for so long. You'd think someone would have worked out how to monetize the talent at some point,"

Hermione quirked an eyebrow at him.

"That would be you,"

"Well, yeah, I suppose, but…"

He trailed off in the face of her skeptical look.

 _Merlin_ _'_ _s saggy- is_ that _what I_ _'_ _m good at?_

George tried to keep his face neutral.

"Anyway, what's this idea you're supposed to be bouncing?"

Hermione sighed again.

"I don't know? I mean it feels like it's cloaked, you know? Like there are parts of my mind where someone's drawn the curtains, and I'm in a dark room. Like the memory is there, but I can't see it. But what if it's not, what if it's more like the memory has been deleted and there's just a black absence there? What if it's worse than that, what if it's like a virus, slowly chewing it's way into my other memories too? I had a read through some of the books on obliviation and memory charm reversal and the stupid stupid thing is that they don't seem to really understand how it works. And that _ought_ to be the cardinal rule of magic- if no-one understands how it works, you shouldn't do it."

George absentmindedly flipped the edges of the exercise book with his fingertips.

"That's sort of what I do too," he said, "In the development and testing phase of a new product. Fred would say 'what about a pair of underpants that always gives you a wedgie' and I'd go through the steps of how to build a spell that would do that exact thing and not cut you in half down the middle by accident,"

Hermione pulled a face.

"I never said the small business was highbrow," George pointed out. "But I might be able to help you test those ideas. I do think you're first guess is probably right. Trust your gut."

Hermione pulled a face.

"I don't think I'm very used to doing that,"

"No," he agreed, "Very cerebral. I think maybe I am too." He turned this idea over in his head. He realised he was thinking about it, and that it was therefore probably right. "But I guess this might be a situation for letting instinct take the lead,"

She was suddenly grinning.

"What is it?"

"Well if we're talking about instinct…"

"What?"

"Do you know the whereabouts of someone called Draco Malfoy? I have no idea why, but I'd really like to punch him in the face."

George grinned.

"I'm sure that could be arranged."


	4. Chapter 4

IN MUNGO'S

Hermione stared at the printout.

"You booked online? With a credit card?" she flapped the paper at Mr Weasley, "Do you have any idea how easy this will be to track?"

"Yes, but I don't know why anyone would want to track Ethel Grimble and her family."

"Who?"

Mr Weasley beamed at her.

"Ethel Grimble. She's booked for her seventieth birthday, and is expecting a large party of friends and family. That's why there's several apartments booked."

"Identity theft is a crime."

"Oh dear me, no. Ethel doesn't exist. Or… I suppose I'm Ethel really. It's my credit card."

Hermione stared again at him. Arthur Weasley. Mild mannered, shabby, and her mind kept throwing up the phrase 'bumbling idiot', but the instinctive part of her kept kicking in with a deep feeling of respect. It made no sense.

"You have a muggle credit card?"

Mr Weasley beamed again.

"I'm not telling the department about it, but it's a very simple thing to set up. It's all just numbers in a computer. Very straightforward."

He adjusted his glasses and blinked at her.

Hermione felt the whole muggle economy crumble under Arthur's sheer enthusiasm for technology. Misguided genius.

 _That's why I admire him…_

The realisation struck her hard. The quest for knowledge… that was what drove her. That was what she admired and sought.

 _How do I explain why imaginary credit cards are not a good idea?_

She sighed, and felt a very Ron-like response bubble to the surface.

 _Don't bother. Let him work it out. In the grand scheme of things, this is a drop in the ocean._

"Mr Weasley, have you ever been to a muggle public library? Before we leave, I'd like to take you. There's some books on economics I think you should read."

Mr Weasley's face lit up.

"Would you? I do love all the gadgets and the anonymity of the internet is liberating! You know, I have a good friend in Nigeria now? He thinks I'm a young accountant from Yorkshire… and come to think of it, I only know what he's said about himself…. Which is the beauty and the danger of it… oh dear. I suppose that's how Ginny got sucked in to that diary." He paused, looking troubled. Then his round face brightened again. "But a _library._ That's something _real."_

3AM GINNY'S BEDROOM

George felt extremely smug.

"Gin,"

She shifted in her sleep, but didn't wake.

"Ginny."

Nothing.

"It's three a.m."

Still nothing.

"It's not freezing, but I could fix that."

Ginny groaned.

"You dare."

"You know why I'm here then."

"What? Go away…" she rolled over, speech trailing off, settling in to sleep.

George jerked backwards as she sprang upright.

"Quest? What's happening? Damn you George, what's going on?"

George chuckled, and tried to pull the front of his pyjama shirt out of her hands. She growled.

"Hermione needs a favour," he said lightly.

"Really."

"Do you remember how she lost her memory?"

"Don't be daft. I wasn't there. The only person who saw…"

Her grip on his shirt loosened.

"Merlin's… you think he lied? Why would he lie?"

"Why wouldn't he lie? He's a horrible little creep. I think we made a big mistake letting him get away."

"So what are you suggesting?"

George cleared his throat.

"How do you feel about a tracking and kidnapping sort of a quest?"

There was a big pause.

"George,"

"Yes, Ginny,"

"You could have waited 'til morning to tell me this, right?"

"Yup,"

Silence.

"Told Harry yet?"

George grinned in the dark.

"Oh, I thought it would be more fun just you and me," he said, "You know, deliver Malfoy, trussed up like a turkey…"

Ginny snorted.

"You realise he's smarter than he looks,"

"Who, Harry? Well, yeah, I guess he'd have to be, he did exterminate Volde-"

"Malfoy, dimwit. He's not stupid."

"Then it's a good thing we'll have the element of surprise."

Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Right. Because being used as a war pawn by his own parents for the side that ended up losing has got to be a peaceful state of mind. He's probably half mad with paranoia."

"Eurgh. Stop talking me out of it," said George, "I'm going to tell mum and dad that I need your help in the shop,"

"George, you _do_ need my help in the shop,"

"And that's why they'll believe it," declared George triumphantly, "Then, while they're all off protecting Hermione 2.0, we'll be ferret hunting."

Silence again.

"George?"

"Yes Gin?"

"Go to bed."

"Yes Gin."

ON THE BALCONY OF A MUGGLE APARTMENT IN PARIS

Harry leant on the rail and absorbed the soft yellow light. She'd stayed behind with George, so that was the two people who made him feel most uncomfortable gone, at least for a while. Hermione still didn't like him, Ginny didn't either, and half the people he knew were still dead, but this was the first time he'd ever been to Paris, and the warm, golden light, so different to the grey-white light of Britain, was working its magic.

For the first time, Harry could see a glimpse of a future.

The future smelt of freshly baked croissant.

The click and slide of the glass door behind him pulled him back to earth.

"Look, I just wanted to say sorry," Hermione said, matter-of-fact. She looked freshly washed and pressed, and her hair was ballooning out around her face in a comfortable looking cloud. "Everyone keeps telling me we're friends. So there must be more to you than… Anyway, I just wanted to say sorry. I guess when you wake up in a room full of strangers you have to make snap judgements and… well. I'd like to start over. Breakfast?"

Harry felt his dream of being alone in the peaceful hum of a French café shatter.

 _This is an olive branch. There will be other mornings in Paris. And you can still have a croissant._

"I was just thinking about croissants. Should I wake Ron?"

Hermione grinned. It was a relaxed, carefree expression, not at all like her usual tight smiles. Harry felt a knot of anxiety start to unwind. This Hermione was not quite the same as the one he knew. Perhaps it wasn't so bad after all, and her intense dislike of him was some kind of mistake. Different person, different feelings.

"I'd rather not have breakfast with Ron. Totally aside from having to watch him inhale a mountain of food while half asleep, have you heard his French? I applaud the effort, but…" she shuddered, "My ears are still ringing from yesterday."

Harry gave a reluctant chuckle.

"I don't know any French. You know, other than bonjour,"

"Excellent." She wandered over to him and peered over the railing, "I don't think we need to use the stairs, do you?"

Harry was about to say something about the lift, when the crack of air rushing into the space Hermione had vacated silenced him. She'd been standing close enough that he'd even felt the air shift. He looked down and found himself grinning. The aerial view of her hair was ridiculous. She waved.

Harry apparated down beside her.

"In the middle of a muggle street? Obliviation has changed you."

For a second he wished he'd kept his mouth shut. But she shrugged and grinned again.

"People blink. That's all it takes. I hardly think anyone is going to believe they saw someone appear out of thin air. Besides, I keep hearing how law-abiding I was and it's kind of annoying,"

Harry chuckled.

"You weren't really. I mean, you went on about breaking the rules a lot, but you were always the one busting into the potions cupboard, or stealing books from the restricted section."

"You think maybe I like rules because I like breaking them?"

Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Hey, I'm not saying that, but…. Yeah, ok, maybe. Very ethical though. When we were on the run, you insisted on paying for everything we stole,"

Hermione choked on a gurgle of laughter.

"That explains why I feel so conflicted about Arthur Weasley,"

"What?"

"Well, I don't have an issue with him setting up a fake bank account, but I really think he should be using real money. Change some gold into pounds. Economic collapse is really rough on the poor,"

"I don't think a few hundred imaginary pounds is going to cause the system to collapse," Harry objected

"No, I know, but it's the principal of the thing. I made him borrow a book on inflation,"

Harry snorted.

"That sounds like you,"

And all at once she looked sad.

"Crap, sorry, I didn't think,"

She shook her head.

"No, it's fine. I suppose a person is a combination of who they are, and who they've become as a result of their experiences. But I don't remember half of mine, so it's bound to make me a bit different. It's just… confusing."

They were walking down the street, past the early morning dog walkers, and the yawning people who had spent the night curled in doorways. There was something paradoxical about it, that the city should be so glowing, and promising, and light, when the smell of fresh baguettes was mixed with car exhaust and dog poo.

"You hated me on sight," said Harry, and immediately wished he hadn't.

She was quiet for a moment.

"Let's get coffee and breakfast, and I'll talk you through it,"

 _I really don't see what there is to talk about,_ Harry thought, _If you feel about me the way I feel about Draco Malfoy, there's really nothing more to say._

Before he could get too caught up in gloomy reflections, she'd led him in to the little café on the corner, and the smells of baking and French brie swamped his senses.

AT GEORGE'S

Ginny took a swig of her luke-warm cappuccino and pointed the end of her quill at George.

"This is your fault," she said accusingly, "I told you he was smarter than he looks,"

George frowned and had another bite of slightly soggy strudel.

"Yeah, but he can't have just vanished. You think we should interrogate his mum?"

Ginny just looked at him.

"Don't give me that look, she married a Death Eater, and gave birth to baby Draco. She has to be fairly evil."

"Or really, really unlucky."

George blinked, and licked syrup off his fingers.

"I keep forgetting arranged marriages are still a thing. Ok, so can we _ask_ his mum?"

"I have no qualms about interrogating those two big blockheads that used to trail around after him. They'll probably intimidate easier than mummy Malfoy, and if the slimy toad is hiding, they have less incentive to keep the secret."

"Fair point." George paused, "So what are you thinking? Owl them and follow the owl?"

Ginny shrugged.

"It's been done before. We'll have to wait until tonight though; it's not really a broad daylight kind of gig. Plus, you have a shop to run,"

George sighed.

"Yeah, I know. Gin, it's just not the same any more."

She gave him a steely eyed look.

"It shouldn't be the same. Nothing will ever be the same. But you still have a shop to run."

George felt panic and misery ballooning up in his chest.

"No, that's not what I meant- I mean, if I block out- if I just avoid thinking about- Look, he was the inventor, the creative one. I'm just… I make the products viable but I'm not creative, and we haven't had a new product since before..."

Ginny's expression softened.

"Making stuff work _is_ creative you dingbat. But if you're stuck for ideas to fix, I can throw you some. Come on. Verity will be pissed if you're late again."

George rolled his eyes.

"Makes you wonder who's really in charge," he said

Ginny grinned.

"Oh, I think we know she's in charge," she winked at him, "That's why you hired her, right?"

George sputtered.

THE CAFÉ IN PARIS

It wasn't so bad after all, Harry decided. The brie was pungent, but the coffee was good and hot, and Hermione had ordered him an apricot viennoiserie without asking him. She'd done it automatically, and then been horrified, and then stunned, when he'd said, grinning that that was exactly what he wanted anyway.

"You do remember me," he'd said, feeling strangely relieved.

"I- I don't though. I just… that was automatic… have I ordered you pastry before?"

"No," said Harry, still grinning as they found a table by the window, "But you know I like those apricot ones,"

"You said you wanted a croissant!" Her voice had gone a bit high and squeaky.

"Yeah, but that's because I hadn't remembered the apricot things,"

Hermione pressed her fingers to her eyes.

"But… argh, this memory thing is _so annoying!_ "

Harry chuckled.

"You're telling me. We've been best friends since we were eleven, and now you loathe me. It's not great."

Hermione sighed and played with the foam on her latte.

"I woke up surrounded by strangers. You were there, looking all serious and ready to take charge, and that's quite alarming in a person you've never met. Then you've got the fact that you were willing to hand over your wand-"

"So was Ron,"

"Yeah, but that was different. I could see when he gave me his it was kind of personal. With you it seemed like…" she wrinkled her nose, "Like you were being _noble_ and… and _pious._ You had this look like you were making a heroic sacrifice… you seemed sort of possessive… I don't know, I was just getting a really weird vibe off you. Like you think you're… special."

This was close enough to Ginny's rant to make Harry's little bubble of apricot pastry feeling deflate and transform into a gloomy puddle of slime. He stared down at his coffee. What was there to say, really?

"Anyway, George says it's not your fault you're like that, so-"

"Oh right, George says," Harry heard his own voice sounding bitter and defensive, "How does Ron feel about all these chats with George?"

Hermione's eyes went round with bewilderment.

"What? Now you're making out like you're defending Ron's territory, like he _owns_ me or something. I don't belong to anyone, Harry, and I don't understand why you think you're the hero of the piece. From all accounts, you had a tough role in the Voldemort debacle, but you weren't the only one. It sounds like an epic team effort on several fronts, and lots of people died."

Harry felt anger burning up through his chest.

"Oh right. What I went through was the same as what everyone else went through. I'm seventeen, and I had to die for the greater good, but somehow, that's _the same as everyone else_. You think everyone's suffered, you think everyone lost someone? Sure. But I have no-one, Hermione, no-one. My parents are dead. Sirius is dead. Lupin is dead. Damn it, even Snape and Dumbledore are dead. Not that I liked Snape, but he knew my mum. Dumbledore treated me like a lamb for the slaughter. I had to die, knowing _no-one_ cared."

Hermione frowned.

"What are you talking about, you have loads of people-"

"You have a family, so you don't understand-"

"Well, I mean, sort of- it's not like they were around much, and they don't remember me so-"

"I'm not special _to_ anyone, I'm just," Harry shrugged helplessly, "I'm just special. I'm not saying no-one would have been sad, but…" he attacked the pastry with the side of his fork, "You have other friends."

Hermione was frowning at him.

He ate a piece of apricot pastry with pent up rage. And felt a bit ridiculous. The rage made the pastry stick in his throat and he had to fight the urge to cough. What the hell did she know about anything.

"It's not about us though, is it." She said thoughtfully. "It's a parent thing with you. Ron told me about your aunt and uncle,"

Harry flinched.

"You wanted someone to grieve for you the way the Weasleys grieve for Fred."

Harry tried to shake his head but it didn't work. He settled for dumping a packet of sugar into his coffee.

"I'm an inconvenience now," he said stiffly, "You and Ron could just get on with things if I wasn't around. Stupid third wheel. Ginny doesn't want me. The Weasleys are kind, but they don't need another person to worry about, and I can pay my way, but it's awkward. I'm still taking up their time. And now that Voldemort is gone…"

She was giving him an amused, measured look. Very Hermione.

"What? It's not even like it would make a difference to Teddy. Andromeda's got him."

"Oh come on, your dog would totally miss you,"

Harry gave a bark of laughter.

"Teddy's not a dog, Hermione, he's my godson. Not that that means anything. Not like I could raise a child anyway, even if he didn't have a perfectly capable grandmother."

Hermione looked startled for a second, and then shook her head.

"Look, you idiot-"

"Nice, insults are great with breakfast,"

"Oh shut up, Harry, and listen. You're acting like a total jerk and I think I see why. Your whole life has been about defeating Voldemort, and you think that's why people care about you and want you around, and now he's gone so you think they won't want you any more. So you're both looking for any excuse to be the hero again, _and_ being difficult and obnoxious to prove how unloved you are. When are you going to realise that it's not working?"

Harry stared sullenly at her.

"No-one wants me around."

She quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Right, because you're being a jerk. But notice how there was never any question of whether or not you'd come on this trip? Notice how no-one is taking your break up with Ginny seriously? Notice how _she never broke up with you?_ Notice how _patient_ Ron is being? What about Arthur and Molly treating you like one of their own kids, and making sure they spend time with you, just you, because they care. Now personally, I don't see why they give a shit, because so far all you've done is be sullen, and sulky, and self-aggrandising, but _I_ _don't know you._ They do, and they clearly don't care that you don't have a special heroic calling, and they aren't taking your shitty behaviour personally because the can see you're not in a great headspace right now. I'm only having coffee with you because everyone begged me to, and on top of finding you generally irritating, on some gut instinct level, I'm really _worried_ about you. So I don't _like_ you right now, and I don't _know_ you, but I still _care_."

Harry ate some more pastry.

"Ok."

Hermione let out a sigh of relief.

"So, who are you really?" she asked, taking a bite of her pain au chocolat.

Harry took a sip of his coffee.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, when you're not defeating Voldemort, what do you like doing? What did we talk about, back in the day?"

Harry shrugged, and knew it looked sulky. He couldn't help it.

"We talked about how to defeat Voldemort. And homework. And sometimes quidditch."

"You like quidditch?"

Harry found himself giving a reluctant half-laugh.

"I play quidditch."

Hermione beamed at him.

"Well, there you go! There's something!"

"I was the youngest seeker in a century. I'm told I could play for England."

Hermione made an indignant, exasperated noise.

"Oh for- people are so _stupid!_ How on earth can you be expected to feel normal if everyone is rushing about telling you how _special_ you are?"

Bizarrely, the sticky misery lifted a little bit, and Harry found his shoulders were relaxing slightly.

"I guess it is… a lot of pressure." Saying that made him feel a little lighter again.

"I'm putting apricot viennoiserie on the list," She said firmly, very 'old Hermione taking charge'.

"What list?"

"The list of completely normal, ordinary things about you, Harry Potter, the completely ordinary boy who is not special at all but who is well loved by his foster family,"

"I don't have a…"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"What else to you like?"

Harry took another bite of pastry. It didn't choke him this time.

"Exploding snap?" He said tentatively.

"Now we're getting somewhere," said Hermione, "Unless you're the world champion or something?"

"No," said Harry, starting to feel like a regular person in a café in Paris, "And I don't even have a full deck; I've lost a couple of cards… that's very ordinary, right?"

"Extremely," agreed Hermione, "Totally unremarkable. Want me to write that down?"

Harry found he was grinning.

"Yes please."

"This is a bit ridiculous," Hermione pulled out a pen and started writing on the back of the café receipt.

"Whatever," said Harry happily, "Can you put down odd socks? Also, the smell of the owlery at Hogwarts. I know it's a bit gross and bird poo-ish, but I like owls,"

Hermione rolled her eyes, and started writing.


	5. Chapter 5

INSIDE A SKEEZY LONDON NIGHT CLUB

"This floor is disgusting," Ginny shouted.

"What?"

Lights flashed, music blared, and Ginny gave up on verbal communication. She grabbed George by the elbow and dragged him in the direction of the bar. She tried not to think about whatever it was that was making her boots stick to the floor.

"What a dive," bellowed George, "Are you sure this is it?"

He was eyeing the scantily clad muggles apprehensively. Ginny had a momentary question mark over George's sexuality, and then noticed all the dyed hair, fake lashes, and cascading breasts strapped up in animal print and sequins… the stench of alcohol and vomit, the make-up painted on, wafts of body odour and too much cologne… the tiny tshirts and bulging biceps and beer guts… she felt her own expression shift towards apprehensive.

"Yes," she shouted, but it didn't feel as convincing as she'd intended. When they'd come in, she'd been on a mission, looking for Crabbe, not noticing much else, but now that she was looking properly… she'd never thought the answer to 'what are you scared of' might be 'drunk muggles'.

"There," George pointed over to a booth containing a boulder in a leather jacket topped with greasy hair. "Is that him?"

"Owl says yes,"

The bird dropped the envelope onto the table beside the boulder, hooted in disgust, and took off for the exit with a panicked flap.

Ginny started towards Crabbe, but George grabbed her arm.

"Not here," he shouted in her ear, "Muggles,"

Ginny nodded.

"Wait outside?"

George shrugged. It wasn't like they could even talk to Crabbe in this din. He was about to suggest sneaking up and planting a little tracking beetle on Crabbe's jacket- a demo piece from one of Ginny's product ideas- when he saw her eyes widen in horror, and she charged off towards the booth.

Before, their view had only been of the back of him, that hulking torso and flat-topped head. But now they had a profile view.

There was a woman on his lap. Young. Short skirt. Stilettos. Big hoop earrings, and somehow a look about her that said 'rough upbringing, just trying to fit in'. Crabbe had one hand up her skirt, and the other up her shirt. Her head lolled against his shoulder, her expression dazed and vacant.

George dove after Ginny, catching her just as she skirted round an aggressive little man in sports gear and chunky chains.

"Ministry," he bellowed at her.

"Corrupt!" she yelled back, her face red, fury beating off her in waves.

"Spinnet can handle it,"

She paused.

"How?"

"Arrest him,"

Ginny rolled her eyes and pulled a face.

"Find her?"

George paused. He could apparate to her house, or to the law enforcement precinct. But she could be out. Patronus would find her. But…

"Wait here," he said, "No magic. You'll get arrested too."

She rolled her eyes again and glared at him.

That would have to do.

George raced for the exit, half-slipping in someone's spilled drink, and taking elbows to the ribs and a flick of pink and purple hair straight in the face.

There was an alley outside. A few doors down. That would be quiet enough. Unless it was full of people… George dismissed the thought and plunged outside into the cool night air, fresh with car exhaust and take away pizza. In the alley a few people were loitering, laughing and spitting, and flinging bottles to smash on the pavement. But that was down the other end. It would have to do.

 _A happy memory…_ George gave a little huff of laughter at the thought. Did he even have any left that weren't soaked through with sadness?

What about when they were kids? No, that hurt. Ok. What about just him by himself? When did that happen? What about winning at quidditch, something they all shared?

Seconds ticked by and George knew that if things were getting any worse in there, Ginny would snap and hex Crabbe into next week, and bring the ministry down on them.

Which would be fine except, she'd be arrested for performing magic in front of muggles, and with their luck they'd probably be dealing with Ministry employees who thought muggles were scum and wouldn't see what the fuss was about.

 _Damn it Alicia, we need those bloody DA coins. How am I supposed to get in touch with you? A happy memory, Merlin's saggy- this is pointless._

George turned on the spot and apparated to the balcony of the block of flats where Alicia lived, raced down to number twenty-seven and pounded on the door.

 _Alicia, please be home, please be-_

He heard muttered spells through the door.

"It's George," he shouted, "You need to arrest Crabbe,"

More muttered spells and the door opened. Alicia was wearing flannelette pijamas decorated with a lurid pattern of broomsticks, cupcakes, and kittens. George blinked.

"I can't arrest wildlife, Weasley, are you drunk?"

"No, Crabbe, big hulking brute, trailed after Draco Malfoy,"

Alicia's lip curled.

"What about him?"

"Mid-way through assaulting a muggle teenager? Can't cast, it's in the zone, bring the ministry down on us,"

"So Fred-" her eyes went wide with panic, "Wait, who are you with?"

"Ginny, and if it gets any worse, she'll cast, you know she will."

Alicia glanced down at her pijamas.

"I'm out of uniform-"

"Cast a glamour!" George wrapped his arms around her and side-alonged her back to the alley way.

"George!"

"Sorry, it's an emergency,"

"It's a crime to side along someone without their consent! I need-"

"Damn it, just do your magical law enforcement thing and save that girl from whatever Crabbe has planned."

Alica gave him a stern look.

"I will be back in one minute. Don't go anywhere. Don't do anything." She vanished with a snap.

George found himself cursing and clutching at his hair in panic. He'd just given up and was charging back to the nightclub when he heard a cluster of cracks like cars backfiring, and there was Alicia and two other enforcement agents. They wore muggle clothes; jeans, boots, and tshirts emblazoned with electric guitars and the letters MLE. But in the wizarding world everyone knew those tshirts weren't fan merchandise for a band.

"That was a pijama party, you fool," Alicia muttered as they caught up with him, "You can't kidnap me out of my own house when it's full of cops,"

"Two people is hardly full of cops," he muttered back.

"It is when you consider the size of her flat," said one of the others, a short curvy woman with buzz cut hair and a long side fringe. "You George Weasley, then? I remember you."

George had a sudden flash of recognition. Ravenclaw beater in his first year. Caught him and Fred sneaking into the kitchens and demanded a muffin in payment for her silence.

"Athena, right? How was the muffin?"

She snorted.

"Cheeky bastard. This is Aiko."

Aiko nodded at him, so he nodded back, and the four of them plunged back into the nightclub, Alicia cheerfully ignoring the cover charge with a quick little charm.

Ginny, it seemed, had not been able to wait five minutes.

Just as they got close enough to see what was happening, the smell of burning reached them over all the other stinks.

Crabbe was on fire.

The girl was slumped half in half out of the booth, limbs splayed, giggling feebly. Crabbe was stomping about batting at his flaming shirtfront with his enormous hands, and bellowing.

Ginny just stood there, stony faced.

"Shit."

Athena cast a quick misdirection, to encourage the muggles to focus on anything other than the drama unfolding in the corner. Aiko extinguished Crabbe with a lazy flick of her wrist, and Alicia bent over the girl, checking her eyes and her breathing, and tugging her clothing back into place.

"Gin?"

Ginny glared at him.

"You said not to use magic."

"Yeah but…"

Ginny's glare intensified.

"He started dragging her off to the loos."

Athena snorted.

"So you torched him? Girl after my own heart. How?"

Ginny winced.

"I dropped that guy's lighter on him. I was going for a diversion. I thought that big wet stain was sweat, and her drool, not alcohol…"

"Ah, accidental torching. Good, won't have to arrest you."

Aiko cast her a look.

"She _accidentally_ dropped the lighter," Athena said loudly.

"The hell she did!" bellowed Crabbe, suddenly weighing in now the immediate threat of immolation had vanished, "Bloody deliberate, Weasley, I'll get you for-"

"No, you won't." Said Athena.

Another lazy wrist flick from Aiko and Crabbe's hands were planted firmly in his jeans' pockets, and the legs of the jeans themselves fused together.

"She set me on-"

Aiko's neutral expression flickered briefly to annoyed. A third flick and Crabbe's mouth snapped shut.

"We need to leave." She said quietly, relying on everyone else to lip read.

The five of them bundled Crabbe and the girl out of the club and into the alley.

"Gin, love, you're going to need to give us a statement and a memory. That ok with you?"

Ginny nodded, tight lipped.

"We're going to have to go in to the office. You two ok with that? I know the ministry is not exactly your favourite institution right now,"

George snorted.

Aiko let out an impressively long sentence full of expletives and graphic expressions of her disgust for the moral state of the ministry.

Athena grinned.

"Paints a good word picture, hey," she said, "Mark my words, she'll be Minster one day."

Aiko cast her a snakey glare.

"Let's go."

AT THE OFFICE

George sat in a horrible plastic chair and waited. Ginny had given her statement and extracted a little whisp of memory for the record. George had given his. Athena had pointed them both at the horrible kitchenette for coffee, and Ginny was hovering in there now, clinking spoons angrily, her hands shaking.

Setting someone on fire, even in a muggle way, was still criminal.

For the first time, George hoped the ministry _was_ corrupt- in his sister's favour.

It gave him a slippery sick feeling.

Crabbe was in an interrogation room. He'd been banging his head against the door in protest, so Aiko had put a stop to it. Now, he was sleeping peacefully on the floor.

Alicia came out of the little sick bay, where the girl was being treated by the on-call healer.

"She's confunded," Alicia said grimly, "You were right, George. I don't know how though, because it should have triggered alarms and sent muggle abuse officers to the scene. She's ok though. I mean… she's not. But you did stop him before he… Look. She won't remember what happened, and there's no, um. Damage? I'm not saying this well. She's ok considering, and she won't remember anything. The healer is trying to lift the confundus at the moment."

"You coming, Spinnet?" Athena gestured with the file in her hand towards the interrogation room.

Alicia nodded, and gave George a quick hug.

"Thanks for ruining my night," she said very seriously, "I'll let you know how it turns out. We can't have shit like this going down. What were you doing there anyway?"

"Looking for a lead on Malfoy," said Ginny, claiming her own hug, "Thought Crabbe might know where he is. Think you could ask him?"

Alicia blinked at her.

"You're looking for Malfoy?"

"Yeah, Herm-"

"We think he knows something about what happened to Hermione," said George quickly. The fewer people who knew that Hermione was lucid the better.

Alicia looked from Ginny to George and back again.

She bit her lip.

"Look." She scratched her head, "Don't go looking for Malfoy, ok? Just… don't."

George frowned.

"Alicia?"

"You won't find him, don't look."

"Alicia, what's going on?"

Alicia sighed.

"I can't say. But use your noggin, George. MLE is telling you _not to look._ "

George's frown deepened.

"Ministry killed him?"

Alicia made an exasperated noise and threw up her hands.

"Don't be daft! I have to go. You'll work it out. But don't go nosing around. You'll never look in the right place anyway, and you shouldn't."

"But-"

"Is that a clue?" demanded Ginny, "Should we look in the _wrong_ place?"

"I have legal obligations," said Alicia, nodding slightly, "I have to go. Love to the rest of the Weasleys."

As they stepped back out into the night and rounded the corner to the apparition point, George wrapped his arm around Ginny's shoulder and gave her a squeeze.

"She's ok, Gin."

"I know,"

"That was really inventive,"

"I know; I'm brilliant."

"Hot chocolate?"

Ginny paused.

"Yes. But only because we have to work out why on earth MLE would have Malfoy in protective custody."

George sighed.

"I hate this quest."


	6. Chapter 6

"Oh, calm down, Ron, I did a misdirection and a glamour on both of us, you're over-reacting,"

Ron deflated slightly.

"You did?"

"Yes," Hermione patted him on the arm, "It's fine. We're fine. Also, we brought you back some pastry,"

"Oh. Thank you." The bag was pleasingly heavy.

"You're sure you weren't recognised?"

"No-one recognised us," Harry said firmly, "It's absolutely fine. You might want to grab some plates and let the others know. It's not all for you,"

"Oh… right…"

Ron felt quite peculiar now that the high stress of waking up to find Harry and Hermione waltzing cavalierly in from muggle Paris without so much as a false beard between them had passed. He felt shaken and light headed, and sort of gut-sick with confused anxiety and relief. The horrible, horrible moment when he'd found her body on the stone floor at Hogwarts had all come rushing back. _I'm really not going to cope if she gets herself killed, memory or no memory,_ he confessed to himself as he swallowed hard against the nausea. He tried to ignore the guilty feeling that was seeping in around the edges, that feeling about Fred, about the fact that Fred was gone, but he was ok, that Fred was gone, but he was still obsessing over his best friend…

He put the pastries down on the table in the little studio apartment he was sharing with Harry and went to find the others.

Harry sat down at the table and considered Hermione. She had a defiant look about her. Suspicious.

"Hermione,"

"Hmmm?" She raised all-too-innocent eyebrows at him.

"You didn't cast."

"I don't know what you're talking about,"

Harry pulled out a chair and sat down.

"I don't think anyone recognised us, but you didn't do any magic out there other than apparate off the balcony."

"Oh, well… he was in a flap. It's fine, no-one cares really."

Harry gazed at her. She was fetching plates from the kitchenette. They were clinking.

"Two things," he said finally, "I should have been the one to disguise us. You've always done way more than your share of the work, and I guess I just... I've been famous since- well. I have my memories and I've been hounded by the press, so I should've been on to that. Sorry. Second. Lying to Ron?"

She pushed her hair over her shoulder irritably, and started neatening up the boring table decorations, and rearranging the salt and pepper shakers.

"Don't make a fuss,"

"Hermione?"

"I should have realised!" she snapped, "We came to Paris because of this apparent notoriety. I just didn't think. I can't _believe_ I didn't think of it. I'm so _stupid!_ "

"Don't be daft," said Harry, "It was an oversight, and I'm more to blame than you are anyway. Besides, I think the paranoia is out of hand. I'm almost certain no-one recognised us."

Hermione began straightening sofa cushions aggressively.

"It's the principle of the thing,"

Harry frowned.

"Ooh," he said, as it clicked into place, "Ooh, oh dear."

Hermione stopped what she was doing and cast him a disbelieving look. Harry felt a tiny bit smug.

"You think people won't like you if you're not smart,"

She stiffened.

"Don't be ridiculous,"

Harry found he was grinning in what he assumed was an extremely annoying way.

"More specifically, you think Ron won't like you if you're not smart,"

Hermione flushed scarlet and let out a string of creative invective with no particular target.

"Yeah, truth hurts."

"Oh, shut up."

Harry regarded her thoughtfully for a moment.

"Has he told you about the troll?"

She rolled her eyes.

"The fabulous tale of how the two of you rescued me from a mountain troll? Yeah, we've been over it."

Harry chuckled.

"No, not that part."

She frowned at him.

"You lied to get us out of trouble. That's what won him over. Not your giant brain."

"You _just_ told me off for lying,"

"Yeah, well, this was different."

"How so?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"It was the right thing to do?"

"And stopping Ron from going into a tailspin of totally unnecessary panic was wrong?"

"Ah, where's Ginny when you need her? She's good at explaining."

"Well, I believe you got in a snit and dumped her so she's gone off to wreak havoc with George."

Harry spluttered.

"You got _mean_ when you lost your memory,"

"Yeah well, what else is new?"

Harry took a breath and tried not to be pissed off.

"Look-"

"Oh, don't lecture me in that self-important way-"

"I'm not-"

"Right-"

"Hermione-"

"Whatever, hero boy-"

"Good morn- whoah," Charlie stepped into the room and back out again in one jerky movement.

"They arguing again?" Ron peered over Charlie's shoulder, "I thought you guys made up?"

Hermione glared. Harry shrugged and went into the little kitchenette to fetch plates.

"I hate to sound insecure," Ron said lightly, "But if you keep fighting with Harry I'm going to think you fancy him."

Hermione burst into tears and vanished with a pop.

Everyone stared at the empty space.

"Harry…?"

Harry swallowed.

"Um. Yeah, so no-one recognised us… but we kinda forgot to… disguise ourselves…" he winced, waiting for the fallout.

Ron just blinked at him.

"You what?"

"My fault," said Harry hastily. The thought that he was taking all the blame again for something he was only partly responsible for flitted through his head. "Well, _partly_ my fault. More my fault than hers. We, um. We forgot."

Silence.

"You forgot that we came to Paris expressly to _hide_ your famous selves?" said Charlie, picking up an almond croissant and taking a dragonish bite, "How the heck did you survive out there for a whole year?"

Ron was frowning.

"So… you were arguing about whether to mention it? Damn, I can't think straight before breakfast." He picked up a kind of pastry-custard concoction.

Harry waited. Ron put the whole pastry in his mouth and sat down at the table.

"You're… not mad?"

Ron glanced up at him.

"No, I'm mad," he said through a goopy mouthful, "I'm also hungry, and I can't be bothered yelling at you. You know it's bad."

Charlie sat down and got himself a plate.

"And mum thought dragon training was a dangerous career choice," he said, "You guys are nuts."

Harry felt a jumble of feelings fighting for dominance. The bliss of apricot pastry seemed a long time ago.

"Are the others coming?"

"Yup," said Ron, inspecting another pastry, "If we're going to be attacked we all need breakfast first." He sighed, "That was really bloody stupid, Harry,"

Harry felt part of him shrivel up in misery.

"I know."

"Right, so here's the thing. You've been all distracted and bent out of shape lately, but you just had breakfast with her: making allowances for the obliviation, do you think she's real?"

Harry frowned.

"What are you saying?"

Ron swallowed.

"This Hermione is… not the same. I really want her to be our Hermione, the real one, but… well, I'm too biased. I really want her to be real, 'specially seeings as she fancies me, but I can't shake the suspicion that maybe there's some really clever magic at work. And she just led you undisguised into muggle Paris, while you were too distracted to notice…"

Silence again.

"You think she's a fake?" Charlie was looking interested now, not just amused.

"I badly want her not to be fake," said Ron seriously, "So I can't trust my own judgment. Whether she's different because she's been obliviated, or she's different because she was never Hermione in the first place, I don't know, and I don't trust myself to guess."

Charlie leaned back in his chair and whistled.

"You guys are _nuts._ "

The idea that Hermione might not actually _be_ Hermione was… confusing. Harry felt a rush of relief, quickly followed by confusion. If she wasn't the real deal, then her dislike of him was irrelevant… but it also meant everything in the café was meaningless… Could a stranger decode feelings he couldn't articulate himself, and make him feel better with lists of nonsense?

Ron was gazing at him anxiously, and Harry felt the weight of that expectation.

"I don't know," he said finally, "I really want it to be her too. She's like a sister,"

Charlie's eyebrow quirked up, and he pulled a face as he took another bite of pastry, not realising they were looking at him.

"What's that face for?" Ron demanded.

Charlie glanced from one to the other and cleared his throat.

"Ah, look." He pointed to Ron, " _You_ fancy her, there's chemistry there, you were never just friends. But _you,"_ He pointed to Harry, "Never thought about her like that for a second, did you?"

"No," said Harry blankly

"Yeah, see you _think_ that because you don't fancy her, she's like a sister, but actually, she's not like a sister, she's a friend." He took in their blank looks and sighed. "Ok, so forget sister for a second. Think about Percy. He's my _sibling_ right? And you know, love him n'all, but I can't handle being in the same room with him for more than ten minutes, and I fundamentally disagree with like, most of his ideas and the majority of his life decisions, and I'm pretty sure he feels that way about me. Like, if he was in trouble, I'd do what I could to help, and he'd do the same for me, but sweet mother of Merlin, I do not enjoy having coffee with his pious highness. Not a bad bloke, but we just don't get on. If I met someone _like_ him just randomly, out in the world, there is almost no chance we'd ever get past small talk, much less deliberately hang out. Hermione's not like a sister; she's not someone you feel an emotional tie to regardless of whether you get on or not. She's a friend. See what I'm saying?"

Harry frowned.

"Maybe…"

Ron was gaping at Charlie.

"That's more words than I've ever heard you say in one go. Where'd you get all that from?"

Charlie cleared his throat again, ears pink, and Harry suddenly saw a strong resemblance to Ron in his discomfort.

"Went on a few dates with a muggle gender studies student."

Ron blinked.

"And?"

Charlie looked even more uncomfortable.

"And nothing. She talked a lot. It was interesting." He grinned suddenly and waggled his eyebrows, blocky confidence taking over again, "No chemistry, but she did give an interesting lecture."

"Right," said Ron, sceptically, "So Harry doesn't fancy Hermione, and she's not like a sister. How does this help?"

Charlie shrugged.

"Good to clarify things sometimes. Whatcha gonna do about blowing your cover?"

Harry sat down. They had two major problems, as far as he could see, the first being the blown cover, and the second being Hermione's whereabouts. A plan started to formulate in his head, a first step, a course of action. He opened his mouth- and closed it again.

"I don't think it's that time sensitive… I _really_ don't think we were recognised and all our known enemies are being hunted themselves at the moment. What if we wait until everyone gets here," he said, "And, and _brainstorm_ …"

Ron stared at him.

"They got to you didn't they, those girls. You sure _you're_ the real Harry Potter?"

Harry rolled his eyes.

"I can't win, can I?"

"Nup," said Ron grinning, "Go back to being mad and sulky, I'm used to it,"

Harry helped himself to a croissant.


	7. Chapter 7

"Don't think you need any new products," Ginny shouted over the din of the back-to-school swarm. "This is a madhouse, George,"

"Take this, aisle three," said Verity, shoving a broom into Ginny's hands.

"But there're customers-

"- trapped in aisle three, knocked over Instant Swamp, Instant Duststorm, and a tub of Venomous Jelly Snakes. Just fly over there and sort it out for them, and tell your brother to stop arranging them in precarious towers, this is _not_ the time for pranks,"

"Right here, Vere," George took the broom and whisked himself ceilingward, "My fault, I'll fix it,"

"Anything to get away from the cash register," grumbled Verity, "They _want_ to see him you know, that's why they come. That is an excellent choice, ma'am," she said brightly to a skinny girl with pigtails and a lot of anxiety, "The Stop-Hitting-Yourself Quidditch Glove is one of our classics, would you like that gift wrapped?"

"It's for my brother," she whispered, scrunching herself down smaller with the fear of her own rebellion.

"That'll show him!" She caught the girl's slightly awed glance at Ginny. "Tell you what, why don't I let Ginevra here help you out, maybe _sign something_ for you,"

"Oh," the girl's eyes went round, "Would you?"

"Of course," Ginny smiled, wondering whether the adoration was because she was dating Harry or related to George. She hastily swapped places with Verity, leaving her to deal with the mountain of Skiving Snackboxes, Exploding Quills, and Imitation Textbooks (Inappropriately Illustrated) being piled onto the counter by a group of teenage boys who, she felt personally, had far too much money.

"You're so much better than _all_ your brothers," the girl said devoutly, "I wish I could fly like you,"

A jolt of surprise and delight. _A quidditch fan. MY quidditch fan. Oh my god. I have a fan!_

"A lot of it is practice," she said, making a mental note to throw in a little something extra for this kid, "What house are you in?"

"Hufflepuff," she said wistfully, "My brother's in Gryffindor,"

 _So many things I could say to that! Damn. What can I- wait…_

"Write you name down for me," she said, feeling inspired, "I'll have a word with the Hufflepuff captain,"

The girl's face changed colour several times.

"Oh but I can't- I'm not good enough to even _try out_ for the team-"

Ginny grinned.

"Not yet maybe. Write your name down,"

The girl swallowed and did it, not, Ginny suspected, because she wanted to, but because Ginny had commanded her to. So, she wasn't especially brave… yet. But from a tiny act of rebellion… Ginny tucked the name _Odette Silver_ into the pocket of her ridiculous Wheezies waistcoat, and for the first time felt good about going back to Hogwarts for another year.

The peculiar sensation of the morning dragging out into eternity while also passing in the blink of an eye felt good. Her feet ached, she quipped and joked, grinned, and juggled sales with recommendations, magical gift-wrapping, and averting minor product disasters ("You realise Hair-Be-Gone will make you _bald,_ right? Try Snake Legs, that's probably more what you're after- just a sec, someone's let the Paper-Eating Pencils out of the cage again…).

It was messy and glorious and frantic, and Ginny felt harassed and on fire and free and alive.

"Welcome to Wheezies," she said for the billionth time, and the young woman in front of her stared.

"It _is_ you," she said.

"Oh my god," Ginny felt her eyes start out of her head.

She was wearing a bunch of crucifixes and several heads of garlic slung round her neck, along with half a dozen protection symbols from half a dozen different religions. She was also sporting a tracksuit top zipped up over a singlet top, and her red, skin-tight faux leather leggings ended in worn out skate shoes. She'd crammed a bunch of silver bracelets onto one wrist, and in the opposite hand she held a cold poker by the middle. Green stuff that looked suspiciously like herbs poked out of one pocket, and the other bulged as though it contained a box the size of a fist.

But the hoop earrings were the same ones she'd been wearing in the night club.

"No enchantments or witchy bullshit," she said loudly, waving the poker a bit, as though she felt it would protect her through existing rather than by being a potential weapon, "We need to talk; I have questions, and I'm not leavin' 'til I got answers,"

Ginny goggled at her.

"Fair enough… um… who… how…"

"None of your business, an' how d'you think?" She pulled an envelope out of what Ginny hoped was the back pocket of the leggings. She unfolded it and slapped it down on the counter, reverse side up.

"Weasley's Wizard Wheezes," she said accusingly, "With the address and everythink."

"I… but…"

"Look, I'm sixteen, I'm not stupid. You just answer my questions and I'll go."

"How did you _find_ us though? I mean… you're a mug- ah, not a magic user…"

The girl jabbed at the envelope again.

"I went back to the club and I got this," she said as though explaining to an imbecile, " _It's_ _got your address on it."_

There was clearly no point in trying to explain that an address was simply not enough information to enable a _muggle_ to find Wheezies. Clearly, using the business stationery had been a mistake, as was forgetting to retrieve the envelope, but regardless, she shouldn't have been able to _see_ the building, much less enter it.

"Hey Gin, I'll take over, there's some girls in the beauty corner need some help and it's kinda weird if I- woah. Hello." George held out his hand.

The girl eyed him suspiciously. Then she waved at him.

George blinked in surprise.

"Not interested in a cursed handshake," she said, by way of explanation.

"I don't think that's possible," said George, sharing a 'what the hell?' look with Ginny, "Look, we're slammed in here at the moment. Do you think you could come back later so we can talk?"

She cast him a look of utter disgust.

"D'you really think I'm gonna give you to a chance to skive off? No way, I'm staying put 'til I get answers, and like I said, no witchy bullshit, ok? I've got protections."

She waved the poker again. It looked kind of heavy. Ginny had no idea why this girl thought that a poker would protect her from magic.

George was staring hard at the girl.

"Have you used a till before?" He asked finally.

She lowered the poker.

"You offering me a job?"

"Only until five, when we close."

She frowned.

"What'cha gonna pay me with, fairy gold?"

"British pounds," said George, seriously. "Then we can talk, and I promise, no magic. We really need the help. Look," He waved a hand at the masses of people cueing by the tills, climbing up the shelves, and stuffing their pockets with sweets.

The girl snorted.

"Aw'right," she said, "Go on then,"

George breathed a sigh of relief.

"Great, Ginny'll show you how it works, the money is different, but the till will spit out the correct change, and anything you put on the gift wrapping station will automatically gift wrap, so don't lean on it by accident, ok?"

"Sure,"

"Great," George turned to dash off, stopped and spun back, "I'm George," he said, and when she raised an eyebrow to indicate she had no intention of sharing her name, he swung back out into the crowd and vanished.

"Apologies for the delay," Ginny was announcing, "We have a new trainee about to start, thank you for your patience,"

The girl rolled her eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

They had a simple solution, which was to take a few magically altered anywhere-but-France paparazzi-style snaps of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and feed them to the papers over the next few weeks… but only if something happened. Everyone agreed, more or less, after careful consideration, that the risk was fairly low.

As far as the magical community were concerned, Hermione, Harry, and the Weasleys were all still hiding out at the Burrow, which had been decked out with a range of very showy protections before they'd left. Any sightings of Harry and Hermione in muggle Paris were likely to be assumed to be rumours, and if anything triggered the complicated enchantments set up all over the apartment block where Ethel Grimble's family was staying, well, then, they'd be ready. After the initial panic, it seemed prudent to sit tight and wait to see if their cover _had_ been blown, rather than blow it themselves by panicking prematurely.

Harry found he was noticing Percy more, after Charlie's little rant. Percy wasn't the same. He barely said anything. He was crushed. Harry noticed he kept propping his glasses up on his head… like maybe it was easier than being able to see everything clearly.

When everything had been decided, and everyone was going their separate ways, to bung on disguises and go sightseeing, or out to see if they could pick up any rumours, or back to bed for a lie in, Harry managed to catch Mrs Weasley after Ron went to look for Hermione, and before she'd packed up her knitting.

"I- wanted to say thank you," he said awkwardly, "For everything."

Mrs Weasley swamped him in a hug.

"Of course, dear, glad you're feeling better,"

"A-about that," said Harry, suddenly wondering if he was about to make everything worse, "Is Percy ok?"

Mrs Weasley smiled sadly.

"Not really, dear, no."

Harry felt her warm eyes on his face, and felt a slight prickle at the feeling that she was seeing things he didn't want her to see.

"He thinks it's all his fault, you see," she said gently, "That Fred-" she pressed her lips together tightly to stop the wobble in her voice. "He thinks- it should've been-"

"Oh," said Harry, trying to save her the trouble of spelling it out. "Everyone's blaming themselves for everything." He paused. "I'd kind of like to blame Voldemort and the Death Eaters for once,"

Mrs Weasley chuckled, and blinked back a threatening tear.

"Quite right, dear. I've half a mind to join the Aurors myself and hunt the rest of them personally."

Harry grinned.

"That would be brilliant,"

She regarded him thoughtfully.

"Percy speaks quite good French. I'm going to take him to the markets. Would you be a dear and come along? I don't know how muggles do it, lugging baskets and baskets of groceries," she shook her head.

"I think they have cars," said Harry amused by her transparent tactics, "If Hermione is ok, then yeah, I'll come."

HERMIONE'S APARTMENT

Ron sat on the edge of the bed.

She seemed quite calm now, looking at him over the edge of the exercise book on her knees, waiting for him to say something.

Was she who he thought she was?

What could he do or say or… how was he supposed to feel?

He stared at her, trying to collect his thoughts.

If she wasn't real, then she was probably someone hostile in disguise, or someone innocent, trapped accidentally. If she was hostile, then he should probably proceed with caution, but try not to reveal his suspicions. If she was someone innocent, she might not know she wasn't Hermione… and in fact, the memories she had were consistent with Hermione, so unless some of Hermione's memories had been implanted in some poor obliviated soul… No. He dismissed this as nonsense, but made a mental note of it as a possibility all the same.

So hostile or innocent, there was nothing to be gained from sharing his suspicions.

And if she was Hermione, really, truly, Hermione, _and_ she loved him whether as a friend or in the way he hoped she did… well, then… He thought about how he would feel if Hermione, the real Hermione, accused him of being an imposter.

 _Treat her like she's real. It's what you want to believe anyway. Just. Be careful._

He gave her an awkward lopsided smile. _Don't kiss her. Don't kiss her until you know for sure…_

He ran a hand through his hair and shook it out.

"Ok," he said, hitching up his endless legs and crossing them to sit facing her, "Hit me,"

She blinked at him.

"Go on, I know you've got a new list of questions."

She bit her lip.

"What if I've somehow been programmed to sabotage everything? I really didn't think- I just- I mean, I even apparated down into the _street_ , anyone could have seen. What if _I'm_ not the one making decisions here, everyone says I'm so different now, what if I'm not _me_ at all?"

He gave a crack of laughter, slapped his knee, and then froze. _Legilimency? I didn't feel anything, but…_

"Lemme see that,"

He whisked the exercise book out of her hands and skimmed it.

 _What if I only_ think _I'm Hermione Granger; what if I'm some kind of magical sleeper agent? What if I've been planted to drag them out of hiding and get them all killed? I should just walk into traffic and make sure I can't be used like that. But what if I_ am _Hermione, and I've been programmed to remove_ myself _from the group?_

He grinned. This was as close to proof that she was Hermione as anything right now.

"I'm about ninety-seven percent certain that you _are_ Hermione Granger," he said, handing the book back, "And the other three percent is paranoia because you like me and I find that hard to believe,"

She frowned at him.

"Don't do that. I hate that you do that."

"What?"

"Talk yourself down. It's really annoying. I don't understand why you're holding on to this outdated notion that you're inadequate."

He gaped at her.

"Uh…"

"Sorry." She said abruptly, "I want you to be able to tell me things. I… I just wish that you didn't feel that way about yourself."

Hundreds of self-immolating thoughts flooded his brain. _Probably don't say any of that. Say something else. How do you know people are who they say they are?_

"Pity we're not at Hogwarts with the Marauder's Map, that'd let us know if you weren't yourself,"

She frowned again.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's got a Homonculous charm on it, doesn't it; you look at the map, and it shows you the true name of everyone, and where they are. Really nifty bit of magic, that."

She wrote something down in the exercise book.

"Hermione?"

"I've never heard of it. But if it's a charm, why can't we just do that?"

Ron pulled a face.

"We'd have to steal three massive books from the restricted section at Hogwarts to even start working on it? It's a crazy complicated piece of magic. Not saying you couldn't pull it off, just, it'd take months to even do the prep work, and then you have to have a place with strong enough boundaries to hold the charm in the first place. I read up on it at the end of sixth year; it seemed like a really simple solution to keeping us all safe, but was way too hard and way to time consuming and way too limited for what we were going to be doing."

Hermione made some more notes.

"And we can't go to Hogwarts until it reopens,"

"Right. So we'll just work on the assumption that you might be a threat to yourself and everyone else until then."

"Great," said Hermione dryly, "That sounds like a lot of fun,"

"It sounds like you'll be needing constant supervision," Ron waggled his eyebrows at her.

He loved that she couldn't keep a straight face and sought refuge in throwing muggle highlighters at him.

He knew that expression.

Now he was thinking about it properly, he'd seen it a lot over the years…


	9. Chapter 9

WHEEZIES

It struck her as deliciously funny that for all their superpowers, they still hadn't worked out how to streamline purchasing properly. Compared to self-serve checkouts, this approach was positively archaic.

She really liked the gift-wrap station though.

It made everything super fancy. In a way she'd never admit to liking.

It would be nice to get a present like that, beautifully wrapped with fluttering butterflies on top, or exploding glitter stars, where you'd see a bow on a normal gift…

Bee had to keep stamping on the jittery anxiety that kept bubbling up. It had taken all her guts to go into the strange pub, make that mad dash through the brick wall on the coat tails of that strange man, navigate the wizard street and walk into the wizard shop, and she still had half expected not to find them. But she had. And that was even more frightening.

Because it meant that everything she'd thought was real, _was_ real.

Ginny was nice, she supposed, and really trying to be friendly. But she was so pretty it made Bee uncomfortable. In her experience, the pretty ones were the worst.

She definitely liked George though. He'd looked at her like a person. And she knew she looked like a freak. Even by wizard standards, she suspected, because none of the customers were wearing garlic or anything. Maybe it was just wizards, and not vampires or werewolves or ghosts?

She was still kind of shocked that he'd asked her to help out. It seemed… crazy? And sensible too; they really needed more staff. The products were like that as well, crazy and sensible at the same time. Except for the paper-eating pencils; they were just insane.

She'd had to say yes really. Not like she knew how to get _out_ of this secret wizard place, now she was in; she'd have to find the entrance again and she was not at all sure she could.

As the afternoon wore on, she started to relax a little. She was worried that if she let down her defences, relaxed that mental brick wall, that some kind of evil magic would come crashing in, that maybe, even though they were nice people and had rescued her, they would just take her back to that weird place with the lady in robes who had tried to suck out her mind.

Gradually, the effort of concentrating on the weird money, and keeping up, and not blinking at the astounding things people were buying soothed her worries. It was almost as though, now that she was surrounded by magic, magic that was silly and funny and mundane, it all felt less threatening.

There were still spikes of panic, like when something exploded in aisle two, or when Ginny had leaned over to explain something and got too close, and the magic and fear made her skin prickle, and she said something snappish and cross…

And just like that, it was five o'clock. And George was handing her a fistful of cash, and asking where she'd like to go to talk.

It was all a bit much. She shrugged.

"We could go up to the flat?" George suggested, "Or we could just stay here, while Verity finishes closing up…?"

Bee felt the stress rark up again. This was not her territory. This was… all the fear started to resurface, and she felt something snappish and sharp about to come out of her mouth.

"What about a muggle café or- or a restaurant or something?" Ginny was giving her a worried look, "I mean, it must be a bit strange for you here- why don't you take us somewhere you feel comfortable?"

Bee bit back the growl in her throat.

"Yeah, awright. You'll have to open that wall for me though."

"What? Oh, the Leaky, yeah of course. Hey look, _how_ did you get in? Are you a magic user?" George had his head tipped to the side. Bee noticed he was missing an ear.

She considered him.

"Not as far as I know." She bit her lip. Ah, sod it. "I followed some bloke in."

"I still don't understand- no, you know what, it doesn't matter, let's go find somewhere to eat. Our shout," Ginny clarified.

The street outside was just as strange as the purple wizard shop. People wandered about in vaguely historic looking robes, wands out, or shoved in a pocket or up a sleeve; a surprising number of people had owls or toads perched on their shoulders; and Bee thought the weirdest thing was that it seemed some wizards _did_ wear pointy hats. She had that overwhelmed feeling again and her voice came out as a growl in reply to Ginny, who was still asking cautious questions as though she expected Bee to turn savage and bite.

Bee felt savage.

She felt threatened and unsafe. She felt… she needed answers.

No-one was going to get to her mind the way that lunking monster of a man had done, the way the robed lady had tried.

She felt the awkward shape of the box in her pocket.

She needed _answers._

MASTER OF INDIA, RESTAURANT, TAKE-AWAYS

George felt quite excited about the idea of curry. He hadn't been excited about terribly much lately, but curry was something he never had much of an opportunity to eat. The realisation that the British Wizarding community was incredibly culturally homogenous hit him uncomfortably in the stomach. Was it any wonder they'd gone after muggleborns?

It wasn't as though everyone at Hogwarts had been… well. White. It was… he'd never really thought about 'race' at all really, except in terms of muggleborn or not… But… blancmange and roast dinners? George discovered he was totally on board with the idea of laksa and samosa and baklava and well, _all_ the delicious things including and not limited to dishes ending in 'a'. Not that it all boiled down to food. He frowned and fidgeted with the table decorations.

Had they all been too isolated for too long? This whole fight had felt very… _English_. Even France hadn't been involved really, in dealing with Voldemort… he'd have to ask Fleur about it. He knew there were powerful and confusing African Wizarding areas, not divided up the way muggles divided up African countries, but more by philosophy, he couldn't quite remember… and the Americas had several different Magical governing bodies… the news had used to contain little snippets from overseas before Voldemort returned and it all came back to what was happening at home, on the little island, that in the grand scheme of things was really just that. Little.

The girl, who was still refusing to share her name, had tucked the iron poker underneath her chair, and had given Ginny a mildly irritated look when she'd told the waiter that they were planning on going to a fancy dress party later.

George couldn't shake the feeling of… well, something akin to fate. He certainly didn't believe in fate, not at all, if anything, the complete opposite. But he had a good feeling about this. Somehow, this person, whoever she was, had been sent to them, somehow.

A very secret part of him wanted to think that maybe… no. He couldn't even think that to himself just yet.

Besides they didn't know anything about her.

"So, here's the thing," Ginny was saying, "I know you had our address, but that whole street is supposed to be accessible only with magic, and you have to go through the Leaky to get there. How did you even _see_ the Leaky? It's got magic on it to stop mug- non- magical people seeing it."

The girl was frowning. She was almost always frowning. George had caught a glimpse of a tiny enchanted smile when someone had purchased a pygmy puff, but so far, the frown and the big fake customer service smile were all the expressions he'd seen.

Girl has defences a mile thick.

Probably not surprising given her experiences with Crabbe.

"My pa's a postman," she said finally, "He's not stupid, and he knows everything there is to know about London. I figured, if the address was a street in Charing Cross, and it wasn't on the map, then it had to be one of the hidden streets,"

She paused while the waiter loaded up the tables with little bowls of fragrant sauces and mounds of rice and naan bread and enormously tall glass of something the girl had ordered which was called lassi. George eyed it with interest and felt very poorly educated.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the hidden streets, you know," she looked at them expectantly. They gazed blankly back, "There are heaps of streets in London that used to exist that don't any more. Some of them are underground now; the street is still there, underneath the modern street, you can see them sometimes through those drainage grills. And there are other ones where people just built across the ends of the street so it's like a double dead end; just an empty strip in a city block. And I figure, even if magic _is_ real, it doesn't make sense to like, _magic up_ a whole other Charing Cross or whatever, so I figured it had to be one of the hidden streets, and there would probably be a building or a wall or something where the entrance would be."

An astonishing piece of information, and one George had a hard time digesting. Was this what wizarding London was like to muggles? Abandoned streets that no-one would have a reason to visit, even if they knew they were there…? He supposed it made sense, that was what those spells were for in the first place, he'd just never thought about how muggles would account for missing sections of their city scape. He'd just assumed they wouldn't notice.

"But even if you _knew_ it was there, you shouldn't have been able to _see_ it," Ginny insisted, "You must have some magical heritage."

The girl sighed and pulled a crumpled tourist map from one of the jacket pockets.

"Here's all the possible hidden streets round Charing Cross." There were a few biro scribbles, "I just cruised around and checked them out. I figured, if there was magic involved, I had to look for other stuff, you know, like, counting the number of people who walk towards where the hidden street was, and then counting the number of people walking away, or like, focusing really hard on where anyone who was dressed a bit magic-like was going so I'd see if they disappeared. I tried a few streets and got nothing, and then I watched a few people disappear before I got good at seeing where they were disappearing to. And then it took another few people before I got in there, and well, then I had the hang of it and I just went through that pub wall with someone,"

"If you had magical heritage, the ministry should have picked it up. And the healer would have noticed when she was treating you yesterday. Speaking of which, look. I'm not saying it's right or whatever, but they told us you'd been obliviated- had your memory of last night taken away. But you obviously remember. From your perspective, what happened?"

She gave them a hard look and ate a large scoop of vindaloo with a corner of naan.

Thinking time, George assumed. Fair enough.

"I was out. With some people. This guy handed me a business card. I took it to rip up and toss back at him, the creep, and something went wrong with my head. I figured I'd been drugged or something. I couldn't… move properly, or do anything, or _think_ , like, well I could _think_ you know, but I couldn't like, formulate a plan or anything. Like I knew what was going on, but I couldn't do anything about it. And then _you_ turned up and set fire to the bastard, which, thank you, by the way, and then _you_ turned up with that girl band, and started shooting off magic every which way. When we got to wherever that was, before they took the spell off me, I heard them talking about obliv-whatever, saying they were going to wipe my memory. And like I said, I couldn't plan or anything, but they took the spell off first, and asked questions, and I had half a mind to leg it, but well, magic you know? Like, something shady was happening. So then when the mind-sucker went for the spell, I just… I dunno. Closed my mind? Then acted real confused and let them put me on the bus. Mind-sucker said I'd been black-out drunk, and I probably wouldn't remember much." She snorted, "Where do you lot get off pinching people's memories? Invasive, violation of human rights prob'ly, _and_ besides which, dangerous! I'm so goddamn careful about drink spiking, but I've never heard business card spiking, and your lot want to take that memory away? Send a girl back in to be raped why don't you."

George exchanged an awkward look with Ginny. Where to begin?

"Er…"

"It's appalling," Ginny to the rescue, "I completely agree. Memory charms are… We have a friend who got half her memories wiped, and she doesn't even recognise us, it's awful. And really unfair. And I'd be furious, if I were you. So… so. Sorry? I know that's inadequate. And it doesn't excuse it, but it's kind of what happens when muggles- non magic folk- see magic by accident, because of the Statute of Secrecy-"

The girl was pulling a face at Ginny's sudden flood of words.

"-So, so there's this thing- George help me out, here-"

"The wizarding world is scared of non-magical people finding out about magic and killing everyone," George supplied.

The girl snorted.

"You have _magic,_ " she said bitterly, "Why haven't you brainwashed everyone into some kind of slave race?"

"Aside from the obvious ethical reasons, it doesn't work like that," Ginny explained, "The magical population is tiny by comparison to the muggle population, so it's much easier just to stay hidden than risk another spate of witch hunts, and yes, I know you're thinking magic, but if someone's hunting you, magic or no magic, you kind of have to run or fight, and neither option involves just getting on with your life,"

The girl considered them both and ate some more curry.

"You should also know there are very stringent laws about performing magic on, or even in the presence of muggles," said George, matching her stare for stare, "So Crabbe- the blockhead who assaulted you- should never have been able to do what he did at all. The ministry should have been down on him the second he confounded you. That's also why Ginny set him on fire rather than hexing him; if she'd cast there she would have been arrested, not him."

She gazed back at him, chewing thoughtfully.

"That's messed up,"

"Yeah, it is,"

They lapsed into silence, and George found himself wishing he knew what Ginny was thinking. Or the girl for that matter.

His own thoughts were cartwheeling all over the place. Cursed business cards? What was _Crabbe_ doing with a business card? Some kind of date-rape spell… this was a whole different kind of evil to Voldemort. This wasn't death-and-destruction, this was… he felt there was a kind of unspeakable wickedness to this that made Voldemort's plans for domination seem… sanitised? Almost as though Voldemort's descent into darkness had transformed him into an evil killing thing, incapable of something as… as _human_ as rape. George shuddered.

"We're looking for someone," he said, taking a swig of water, "Another wizard, who used to hang out with that guy at school,"

The girl thumped the tabletop by accident.

"You _know_ him?!"

"Only by reputation, and believe me, I wish I didn't," said George, "We tracked him down hoping he might tell us where this other wizard is hiding."

"Another fuckwit?"

George and Ginny exchanged looks.

"You could say that. We think this wizard may know something about what happened to our friend with the memory loss,"

The girl's eyes went round.

"Shit, sorry, no- I mean, we don't think- look, it was in the middle of a battle, so we don't think she's been _abused_ or- well, aside from her memory- he's a slimeball, but I dunno that he'd- It was completely different circumstances to what happened to you,"

She helped herself to a pappadum, and didn't take her eyes of him.

"Point is, we're trying to find him, because he saw what happened to her… but he… his side lost the war. So he's hiding. Or hidden. We're not sure."

She didn't say anything.

Ginny rolled her eyes at him.

"Seriously? Her first day in the wizarding world, and you're going to start explaining the battle of Hogwarts? Why don't we fill her in on the Boy Who Lived and bloody You Know Who?"

The girl quirked an eyebrow.

"Or you could skip that and explain to me how the hell I'm supposed to stay safe in a world where wizards can do what they like,"

Ginny frowned.

"You should have been protected… unless maybe you've got, what, just enough magic to not trigger a muggle alert, but not enough to register as a witch? No see, that doesn't make sense either. Pity we don't have that business card to analyse,"

George saw a thought dart across the girl's face. She looked almost… like a teenager in way too deep. He knew far too many of those.

She put down her cutlery, and fished back in her jacket pocket. She put a small box down on the table, like a for a watch, or a piece of jewellery.

"It's in there,"

They stared at the innocuous little box.

"How did you…?"

"Rubber gloves and tweezers. Not taking any chances, and figured it was triggered by like, skin,"

"Like a portkey," Ginny murmured. "Dammit George, we have to report this. No, no, not you, whatever your name is! I wouldn't take you anywhere near the Ministry again, they'd want to lock you up and do tests. But if there's a new confundus going round, law enforcement needs to know."

"Keep it," she said, shrugging. Her assorted necklaces clinked and rustled. "Just give me some way of staying safe. Speaking of, does any of this shit actually work?"

"Eh? Oh. You mean as protection," Ginny peered over the table, "Well, vampires don't _like_ garlic, but only in the way that I don't like the smell of feet. What else have you got? World religions… those could have some protective power, talismans absorb energy over time, but they'd have to be very old to have enough juice to work as protection against magic… crystals… very dodgy. There's a whole thing with crystals and resonance, but the jury's out on how effective they are and whether or not you can really strip negative energy out of them… look, do you trust us enough to let us make you a protective amulet? Because we could do that, if you want."

George realised the girl had mostly been looking at and talking to him. But now she was looking at Ginny, eyes narrowed. Thinking again, he supposed. Ginny looked anxious. Almost… as though having to survive in a world without the ability to cast a bat-bogey hex was something she couldn't bear the thought of.

"Yeah, awright." The girl bit her lip. "I'm Bee,"

"Sorry?"

She rolled her eyes.

"My name," she said, a touch impatiently. "You can call me Bee." She stabbed at her food with her fork.

 _She still doesn't feel safe…_

"What's this bloke's name anyway, this wizard you're lookin' for?"


End file.
